


sleepless nights

by belforma



Category: Bravely Default: Flying Fairy
Genre: Gen, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:18:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belforma/pseuds/belforma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleepless nights are not a new problem for Tiz.  Maybe they can be lessened in frequency with a little bit of pep talk, though.  Written in the frame of Tizabel but is not necessarily anything more than friendship fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the short-and-short is that i couldn't stop thinking about bravely default after beating it, and felt kind of underwhelmed with the character interactions that weren't written for the purpose of tiz/agnes and ringabel/edea, and i'm a sucker for tiz's survivor's guilt until the very end.
> 
> this fic hasn't been beta'd, was written over a 24 hour period in a bizarre "i need to get it written" flurry, and tries to be accurate to canon but might be flawed! in any case, i enjoyed writing it.
> 
> meant to take place after the conjurer sidequest in chapter 6.

Tiz has always slept too lightly and too poorly; he is troubled by neon lights and flickering flames, both of which dance in ways which are eerily similar behind his eyelids. (The hustle and bustle of nightlife, thankfully, does not usually echo the pleas Til made to him before he fell into the abyss.)

He is almost always the one awake when Ringabel slips into the inn room after a night of gallivanting, although he is almost always trying to sleep and only acknowledges Ringabel with a hardly noticeable once-over. Tiz is the kind of friend who never asks Ringabel where he goes or what he does, which is a very kind attitude when compared to Edea’s constant scolding and, when she deigns him worth the time, Agnès’ cold, hard stare. (They are both very beautiful when they’re angry, so Ringabel cannot honestly complain -- he remains grateful for Tiz’s much gentler form of companionship, anyway.)

Tiz never quite sleeps well, even after Egil. He is still very sensitive to the cities and their bright lights. Of course, every world after Egil seems to make his sleep poorer, and Tiz gives up on the efforts altogether to breathe fresh air, listen to the sounds of the sea, and pretend he is not thinking about Norende -- every Norende, and every Tiz Arrior.

If he was less optimistic, less genuine and kind and every little softhearted thing that took him across the world (twice over) with a woman he barely knew, he would consider the world-saving business is not meant for him. He is not, though he finds it a particularly tempting thought when he is standing on a balcony overlooking Caldisla’s port and remembering that there is a small pass to the northwest that winds and bends and leads to a gaping chasm they call Norende, and for every gaping chasm there was a morning like any other where the earth crumbled beneath an entire village’s feet and swallowed it whole before anyone realized what was happening.

Ringabel is the kind of friend who follows Tiz out onto a balcony overlooking Caldisla’s port and questions him for being awake, standing in the cold trade winds, and staring off into the bleak horizon of the night sky as though he has something better to do than rest before another day’s travels.

“Trouble sleeping again? I thought it had passed after we settled Egil.”

Tiz would not have to look to recognize Ringabel’s calm swagger, hand held confidently on his waist and half-smirk on his lips, but he turns a shoulder toward him anyway, because he was raised better.

“I thought so, too,” he says, nodding for one moment and keeping his sights firmly on the cobblestone for the next several. “But …”

“I’d offer a night out on the town if I thought it’d do any good, but something tells me this is of a more serious nature.” Ringabel shakes his head and raises a palm to the sky, faux-exasperated, and Tiz draws his eyebrows in his own expression of exasperation.

Ringabel is the kind of friend that saunters up next to Tiz and ruffles his hair in a rough, friendly way to make him stop looking at him like he’s tired of him. The expression softens, at least.

“Go on, then. What ails you?”

Tiz would look at the cobblestone again if Ringabel would let him, but he knocks their shoulders together when Tiz tries, so he’s stuck diverting his attention to the boats docked three stories below them.

“It’s just,” he says. He starts stops, and shuffles his feet, leans over the brick walling, and lets a cool sea breeze rasp against the back of his throat before shutting his mouth. Ringabel mimics him, at least with the leaning, and gives him a less devilish version of the smile he might give to Edea while trying to convince her to equip the spell fencer asterisk.

“It won’t do your sleeping habits any good to keep quiet now. What are we meant to do if you’re too exhausted to join us, hm?”

When Tiz does not offer much in the way of a response, opting to half-fold his hands and fidget with his fingers, Ringabel knocks shoulders with him again.

“It’s not about Agnès, is it,” he says, practically pressing his cheek against Tiz’s and baring his teeth in a way that is frankly predatory. Tiz regains some of what little liveliness he had in the first place, gets caught between a subtle shrinking motion and the rash jump a frightened animal might make, and ends up more or less rooted in place with a sorry frown.

“What? No, of course not.”

The response is uncharacteristically unexciting, and Ringabel leaves Tiz’s personal space to Tiz again. They are both wearing sorry frowns now.

“There’s nothing for it if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Tiz’s voice sounds awfully frail, terribly small, when he asks, “why do you think Norende is the same in every world?”

Ringabel is formulating a proper response when Tiz keeps going, a little less awfully frail, a little less terribly small.

“How many times are we going to awaken the crystals to try and seal up that horrible chasm?” he asks and looks pointedly at his fidgeting hands. “I want to -- I really want to close it. And I want to help Agnès awaken the crystals, so we can help everyone in this world who’s suffering. but …

“What about my friends? My family?”

For a long while, neither of them has anything to say on the matter. Ringabel tries, but his expression is a little less sympathetic and more the way one looks at a pitiable child, and Tiz is not really interested in looking at him anyway.

“Every world we’ve arrived in has been slightly altered, hasn’t it?” he finally voices, though he does not expect a response. “With the exception of the dormant crystals and the chasm, of course.”

“Yeah. Even when it comes to the chasm, sometimes Til …”

Tiz does not need to muster any more willpower than he’s currently struggling with for Ringabel to understand the rest of the statement. His participation, at the least, gives Ringabel a shred more confidence.

“Wouldn’t it follow that solving the mystery behind the crystals, as well as whoever -- or whatever -- wishes we awaken them, would also reveal the truth behind the chasm? With only two constants, it seems improbable for it to be mere coincidence.”

Tiz is silent for many moments after, but his fingers settle and Ringabel tallies it as a win. Or, he tallies it as enough of a win to nudge Tiz’s hand toward his own, twine his gloved fingers with Tiz’s bitterly cold ones in an act of reassurance, and soften his tone.

“There’s nothing for it, now. I suspect the best we two can do is ensure the same tragedies don’t repeat themselves.”

Tiz breathes new life, or acts it, and finally finds the docks have lost their captivating factor. he is not quite smiling, and Ringabel swears he can see the water pooling at the corner of his eyes even now, but he is not wearing a sorry frown anymore so it is an improvement.

Tiz is laughing when he squeezes Ringabel’s hand, a soft boyish chuckle.

“You’re right, Ringabel.”

“Do try not to lose sleep over it,” he says with a smile that is two parts smug and one part utterly content. “You’ll never keep up if you can’t stay awake.”

“I know. I’m going to try.”

He is still not quite smiling when he looks at Ringabel, but there is something remarkably fond in the shape his lips make, which might be better.

“Of course, my offer to join my nightfall expeditions stands. I could always use a wingman.”

Tiz laughs again; this time, he is definitely smiling.

“You haven’t changed at all.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being well-rested comes second to heartfelt discussions on grief and grieving. Still spoilers for chapter 6 onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't strictly a continuation of the first chapter, but i would have felt bad creating another work altogether for what is essentially themed the exact same. all my thoughts about tizabel tend to revolve around their shared sadness and ringabel's tendency to look out for tiz's wellbeing when it comes to his norende experiences. as for why they always end up being discussions at stupid o'clock ... well.
> 
> i appreciate the thought of the characters sharing beds to save pg and pixiv's tag for tizabel has pretty much instilled tiz sleeping in ringabel's bed to sleep easier into me.

Tiz is doing his best sleeping impression when Ringabel asks if he thinks he could have saved them. He is not a very good liar, especially not when he is meant to be asleep and he is breathing in the sand particles of the Harena desert at an alarming rate, and even more so when he is not sure what would constitute as a truthful response.

He drops his sleeping impression and blinks at Ringabel in the dark, once or twice for good measure. Ringabel isn’t very clear in the darkness, not even enough to vaguely make out his expression, but Tiz still tucks his chin down like he can’t bear to face him.

“The people of Norende?”

“Of course. If you had had ample time and warning.”

“Why are you bringing this up, Ringabel?”

Likewise, Ringabel cannot really make out Tiz’s face in the dark, not even when Tiz props himself and gives him his best frown, the one most indignant and close to anger, but he can hear the way he rasps and seethes under his breath. It is not particularly frightening; Tiz is a being abnormally docile, and they have shared words about Norende several nights before, and would likely continue sharing them several times after.

“Simple curiosity,” he says, a little too soft. Tiz is not really keen enough to say what bothers him about Ringabel’s flippant attitudes; he is only keen enough to say they bother him.

“Is that really it?”

For a moment, Ringabel can imagine the face Tiz is making, marred with worry and concern and the sorry way his eyes look when he thinks he’s being lied to, but is not really frustrated enough to address it. He ends up laughing, and Tiz sits up well enough he can make out the same face he was thinking of in the moonlight.

“Ringabel …”

“Sorry, sorry.” He pats the bed next to him, and Tiz curls up in very much the same way he was before they started conversing. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. You’ll be up all night like this.”

“It’s fine. … I don’t think it’s something I want to think about, though.”

“Of course not. Perfectly understandable.” (Relieving, even, considering how much Norende has already consumed his thoughts.)

“You know …” Tiz hesitates, and then hesitates some more, shifting over to rest his head on Ringabel’s chest and curl his fingers comfortably around his side. “I still think about it. Of course I do. But right now, everyone’s doing their best to help me rebuild my life. And … we won’t get the things we lost back.”

He pauses with a mighty breath in a momentary instance of uncertainty; he is not very good at speechmaking, and the longer he goes on the more his thoughts jumble and crumple into a mess categorized as “Tiz Arrior after Norende”.

“We won’t get the people we lost back, either. That doesn’t mean we have to spend the rest of our lives regretting what we could or couldn’t save.”

“That was surprisingly eloquent, for you.”

“I — is that all you have to say … ?”

Tiz’s gently curled fingers become much closer to a grip, and Ringabel laughs at his own lack of tact. He tries to make up for it with less words and more a hand through Tiz’s hair; it’s not perfect — it surprises him, makes him a little jumpy — but he seems calmer (more embarrassed, maybe) not long after.

“Hardly. It took me by surprise, is all.”

“Well,” Tiz says, and pretends he does not feel a little stupid. “Even when we were awakening the Fire Crystal, I was thinking about Norende. It … had been so many months, and I still could hardly believe it was all gone … so … I know, even if it’s not really the same …”

He stalls.

“Tiz?”

“It might not be the same, but … I think it’s fine if you take your time thinking about what you could have done. … With Airy, and the crystals, and everything. As long as you aren’t always thinking about it, I guess.”

He is surprisingly resolute until the final bit, at which point he stutters out a sorry “um, ah” and takes his time, fingers clenching and unclenching with nerves.

“And … we might not be the same as the Tiz, Agnès, and Edea from your world, but … we’re here with you, now.” He voices a sheepish laugh when he says, “you’re one of my best friends, Ringabel.”

There is something divine about Tiz’s kindness. Ringabel is not sure what, but he’d guess it has something to do with genuinity and simpleness, and how these traits survived even the most heartwrenching loss.

If he thinks too hard on it, he remembers many years longing for family and a bitter taste of disinterest for most things in the world that did not fall under Braev’s orders.

(Ringabel is quite sure Tiz Arrior is a better person than he ever was.)

“Thank you,” he says. If he sounds a little sad, Tiz does not say anything about it, but shakes his head half-heartedly.

“I should be thanking you. You’ve looked out for me this whole time, haven’t you?”

“Naturally. What sort of best friend would I be if I hadn’t?”

Perhaps this night would be more restful than anticipated.


End file.
